


Ghost Serenades

by PeachGO3



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cat!Kirk, Fluff, Frankenstein!Scotty, Gen, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pet Names, Sharing a Bed, Vampire!Bones, Witch!Uhura, come come kitty kitty ♪
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-12-31 18:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: The crew is costumed for their Halloween party, but due to mysterious circumstances everybody becomes the actual monster they dressed up as. Kirk and Spock try to solve the problem – which proves to be increasingly difficult in the captain’s condition. Revelations ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

_Captain’s Log, Stardate 3110.6. Our mission of taking samples of the moors from planet B-001 for scientific research and medication development has been – despite the moors’ heavy fog – successful. We have gathered the samples and requested beaming up the whole landing party – Science Officer Spock, Yeoman Tamura, Security Crewman Patel and myself. We will proceed to analyze the samples and then take them to Starbase 4 for further examination. Kirk out._

Back on the Enterprise, Jim dismissed Tamura and Patel, who snickered on their way out. Jim did too, when he took a look at his chief engineer Scott to find the reason for their amusement. Scotty was wearing green face paint, ragged clothes and a collar with a screw as though it had been pierced through his neck.

Jim walked up to him with strict steps. “Mister Scott,” he said, “I can see you’re all dressed-up and ready for the party.”

Scott grinned at him like a child. “Yes, sir. I’m quite ready. All on-duty personnel are instructed and keeping her in orbit. All I need now is a mad scientist by me side,” he said with a puffed chest. “Well,” Jim said and turned around. “We have a scientist right here with us, although he is far from mad.”

Spock looked up from his tricorder and quirked an eyebrow at them.

“Yeah, what will ye dress up as, Mister Spock?” Scott asked.

Spock’s eyes wandered to Jim in a look of betrayal. He continued to say, “I am afraid, Mister Scott, that I will not partake this holiday celebration of yours.”

“Aww, that’s a shame,” Scott went, making Spock tilt his curious head with widened eyes. “It’s not that your human frivolities revolving around the celebration of the otherwise undesired feeling of fear, which you seem to be rather excited about, are of little interest for me. It’s just that I cannot sport the same enthusiasm for costumes as you do, which is why I’ll be occupied with analyzing the water and soil samples of B-001, thus giving more eager crewmembers the possibility to leave their post and celebrate instead,” he said.

Jim chuckled throughout this lengthy explanation. “I’m sorry there was no time to make you properly accustomed with the Halloween tradition beforehand, Mister Spock,” he said truthfully.

“Don’t be, Captain,” Spock replied, “the matter is not regrettable, as I just explained.”

“Clearly,” Scott said in a sad tone. Apparently, he had looked forward to seeing Spock in costume, or at least wearing a little accessory. Antennae maybe, or devil’s horns – after all, both Jim and Scott knew that Spock was not without humor, even if it was hard to tell sometimes.

As he watched the captain and his officer leave the transporter room, Scott could’ve sworn there was a cold sensation on his arm, fleeting, and it was gone just as fast. He shrugged it off and left the controls to the ensign. It was time for a Halloween drink.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As he practiced his Starfleet dignity expression, Jim looked at himself in the mirror and couldn’t help but sigh. His outfit looked really nice, apart from those tight pants that left up only little to imagination. He briefly wondered if he should just change into his uniform’s pants, but that would ruin the overall silhouette, Jim found. He adjusted the deep V-neck of his fluffy black shirt and the black choker that had come with the costume. Three stripes on each cheek served as worthwhile whiskers, all that was missing now were the black cat ears. And the cat tail, but Jim would rather not attach that. Too tacky.

The mirror shone with pumpkin candle lights as Jim watched himself from as many angles as possible. If it weren’t for the cat accessories, this would be a rather fashionable outfit. He practiced his smile a last time before leaving for the laboratory, where he was supposed to pick up McCoy.

Walking in this dress-up was fun, Jim found. Maybe he could still persuade Spock to dress up as well.

“Trick or treat, gentlemen,” Jim said when the laboratory’s door swished open. McCoy greeted him while Spock continued watching the microscope. McCoy, too, was already in costume, elegant and spooky. “Ready to leave for the ball, Count Dracula?” Jim asked with a smile.

“Ready when you are, Catwoman,” the Doctor joked, but his glance lingered on Jim’s pants just long enough to destroy the Captain’s confidence all over again, shoulders slopping down. “Those don’t look very comfortable,” he warned, and Jim nodded it off. Great, just when he thought he was comfortable in these Bones had to point them out and make him self-aware again.

“I appreciate the concern, but they are quite comfortable, Bones. Because they’re very soft.”

This was the moment Spock decided to turn around. Cocky eyebrows jolted up. “Captain, are you all right?” he asked, mildly amused. Did he just watch the cat ears?

“I am, Mister Spock, thank you,” Jim said fast and clapped his hands. “Bones, let’s get going, shall we?”

“We shall,” McCoy said. “Everything is taken care of. Our hobgoblin is instructed and working hard and fast as always. The result will be ready to send to Starbase Four in no time.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Doctor,” Spock answered. He turned around again, and as Jim watched the lean back of his blue uniform, it washed over him – the realization that Spock would never dress-up for Halloween, not even with a simple cape. He just wasn’t that kind of person. Scotty was right, it was a shame. If he could just…

“Spock, don’t you wanna come and have a drink?” Jim blurted out. McCoy was already on his way out when he said, “I’d like to have him with us, actually. Even without a costume, he’d blend in.”

Spock turned around in his chair to face Jim. His mouth twitched and crinkles formed around his eyes, which was the Vulcan’s equivalent of a smirk. Only few could also spot it written in his eyes.

Jim straightened up, but it was hard to look sincere when your face was painted with broad fake whiskers. “Please,” he said. “It’d be a shame for you to spend the night up here, all alone.”

“The analysis of these elements is most crucial, Captain. It needs to be taken care of.”

Jim flashed him a smile. “With your work ethics, you could easily get it done even after a drink and a few minutes of partying,” he said.

“That is right, indeed,” Spock replied, looking up through his lashes, “and furthermore, I’d miss your company if I would not come.”

“Great, then let’s get going,” McCoy chimed in. A smile shone in Spock’s eyes before he shut off the instruments and got up.

The corridor on Deck Three was decorated with colorful leaves and all kinds of Halloween items that reminded Jim of his childhood – skeletons, bats, pumpkins, spider webs. To have the party had been one of his better decisions this year. He glanced up at Spock, but the Vulcan seemed unimpressed. Jim decided to make up for his lack of information by explaining the Halloween tradition in briefness. And so, Spock at least got a hang on ‘trick or treat’ by the time they reached Recreation Room Three.

“I still don’t understand,” Spock said with his hands on his back as Franken-Scotty passed him by, “why the choice of costumes seems to be so random. Some look at least a little scary, like the Doctor’s -”

“Thanks, Spock.”

“- but, for example, yours, Captain,” he continued (Jim took a deep gulp of the witch potion alcohol). “You look rather stylish, more than scary – except for the ears. An all-black outfit suits you,” Spock concluded.

“Thank you,” Jim said and went on to explain the meaning of black cats just to feel better about himself and the pants. Lieutenant Uhura, sporting a giant black hat, interrupted him playfully: “The Captain must accompany me to the witch coven as my familiar.” She giggled and waved her broomstick around, but apologized immediately to Spock, who she almost hit.

“No worries, Lieutenant.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to see you here, Mister Spock. I’ll get you a drink, if you want to.”

“Not necessary,” McCoy said and handed Spock a glass of red beverage with little black bats in it. He just came back from the buffet. “This vampire punchbowl is very good,” he smiled. The sharp vampire teeth were missing from his costume, but Jim figured they wouldn’t be very practical for the buffet anyway.

The three men continued to chat for a while, enjoying the creepy upbeat music and comparing the other crewmembers’ costumes. Some were scary, some were cute. Janice Rand even wore a self-made dress with a tribbles print – Jim found the longer he watched the others, the less uncomfortable he felt. Maybe this was also due to the fact that Spock was as relaxed as ever, despite being the only crewmember in uniform.

After McCoy had left for the buffet yet again, he leaned in closer to Jim. “Now that I know that the choice of costume is primarily a personal one, what exactly is the reason you decided yourself for the black cat?” he asked.

“Oh, I just saw the costume in a store,” Jim said, “and thought it looked very nice.”

“It does, very much so,” Spock said, yet again eyeing the cat ears. Jim smiled at this display of unashamed curiosity on his face and silently thanked him for the compliment. “Fascinating,” Spock concluded without any specificity and put away his half-emptied glass. “Please, do excuse me, Captain.”

Jim nodded. “All right, Mister Spock.” He smiled, and Spock returned the gesture. “Enjoy the evening,” he said, hands behind his back and ready to leave. As his First Officer walked away, Jim felt something on his arm, like a cold breeze. He looked around, but no one had walked past him. Was he drunk already?

His confusion was interrupted by bright laughter from the other end of the room, where a nutcracker – Ensign Chekov – had started to actually crack walnuts with his bare teeth. Impressive, Jim thought and joined the small crowd. Uhura applauded as Chekov bowed deeply, like a ballet dancer. “The Russian occlusion,” he said proudly, cheekily chewing another nut.

“Doesn’t that… _hurt_?” Jim asked him, but Chekov was busy glaring at Scott, who was still laughing into his glass. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

Scott didn’t reply, and Uhura chuckled at his tipsy smile. But Chekov’s tone was strangely aggressive when he asked him again. As their Captain, Jim stepped in, even though he may not look very respectable in his black fluff top and cat ears.

Chekov had his hand on his costume’s sword.

“Ensign, please,” Jim said, because with that look on his face, Chekov was definitely serious. He’d probably had too much alcohol already. He started screaming something in Russian and wiggled past Jim to attack Scott, who growled in response and gave Chekov a rather uncoordinated knock on his helmet. Jim tried to tear the two apart and got a hold of Chekov. “What is going on, Ensign?” he inquired.

“Her Majesty will not allow any insult,” Chekov snarled, to which Scott had trouble responding. “You two have been having too much,” Jim called.

“They’re both very cold,” McCoy said after checking them with his portable medical device. “I’ll take them to sickbay.” He came closer to Jim to add, more quietly, “This is strange. The readings are somewhat similar to the ones down on the planet’s surface. At least there’s traces of something similar up here – high amounts of carbon dioxide, for one – but I can’t say anything more as of yet.”

“Can you handle these two?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, of course.” McCoy looked around with his elegant grey cravat, and Jim thought it would probably be clever to tell him about the breeze from earlier.

“Bones,” he whispered, “I have been strangely cold too. Just for a moment, not long ago. Report if something similar happens to you.”

McCoy acknowledged with a nod and tightened his grip around Chekov’s arm. “Go talk to Spock about it as well,” he said and dragged the ensign, who suddenly looked very sorry. Jim let his hand ghost over his shoulder again. The party mood seemed ruined. With his head down, he left as well.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Most curious, Captain,” said Spock, tricorder beeping in his hands. “The Doctor was right, these sensor readings are very similar to the ones we took on B-001.”

Jim leaned against the table, arms crossed in black fluff. “Are they only on Deck Three?” he asked.

“As of now, yes,” Spock replied, “but it seems to be spreading.”

“What’s ‘it’?” Jim asked. “Radiation contamination? Or a lifeform?”

Spock continued reading. “Difficult to say at this point. It reads like a lifeform but appears to be… dead.”

“Dead?” Jim moved closer to Spock. “Explain,” he ordered.

“Biochemical traces are there, but not working. Yet this creature is undoubtably the source of the elements we found on Deck Three. As if it has been dropping them while wandering the ship. It would be logical to assume we beamed it up among ourselves,” Spock said.

“You say it’s a creature,” Jim mused, “but the readings say it’s dead?”

Spock looked up at him. “Yes.”

“That’s… strange,” Jim said, eyes lingering somewhat long on Spock’s lean fingers, resting on the tricorder. “Dead, but not _dead_. Like a genuine Halloween creature,” he murmured.

“While I can neither confirm nor deny that with absolute certainty, Captain, we shall strictly stay scientific,” Spock said.

“Yes, of course.” Jim nodded and cleared his throat.

As Spock went on to explain the phenomenon (“It is dead and cold. Minus 109.4 degrees, approximately like frozen carbon dioxide”), Jim found himself weirdly distracted. He’d always been awed by Spock’s science-talk, but tonight it was especially endearing. Was that because everyone else was so unapologetically unscientific today? He slowly wiggled to get rid of the fuzzy sensation in his head, and Spock quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you all right, Captain?”

Jim swallowed. “Yes, Spock, thank you. Continue sensor readings, please. I’ll get a message to everyone on board and inform them about the intruder.”

“I advise you to do so,” Spock agreed, “but please keep in mind that we do not exactly know the creature’s nature. Its patterns of movement indicate some degree of intelligence. And either it or its fallout also seemed to have affected the countenance of Ensign Chekov and Chief Engineer Scott.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jim said breathily – because what he really had been doing was staring at Spock’s hands all throughout, his scientific baritone comforting his ears while he watched. Those lean Vulcan hands, strong, yet always careful and sensitive, so clever –

Exhaling, Jim shook himself and moved over to the intercom to deliver his message. He could feel Spock carefully watching his back ere facing the tricorder again, and it felt very pleasing for some reason. Was he affected as well? He must be. They decided to go to back to the rec room to investigate, but Jim did not tell Spock about his condition. Wearing this cat costume was bad enough. Tentatively, Jim tore at the ears, but they would not come off. He decided to leave them for the moment.

Back at the party, they found that the number of participants was surprisingly unchanged. Lieutenant Uhura was laughing in a group of other witches. “Oh, Captain!” she greeted with a sparkling smile.

“Lieutenant,” Jim greeted back and nodded at the other crewmembers. “I’m sorry to break in like this, but…”

“We have heard your message,” Uhura said quickly, “we’re looking for the creature, too.”

“Do you?” Spock asked with a raised eyebrow at everyone’s glasses.

“We do,” Uhura whispered. “We’ll find a spell.”

“A spell?” Jim repeated and sighed. “Have they been affected?” he quietly asked Spock, who nodded after a brief glance at his humming tricorder. “The creature was definitely here not long ago,” he said.

“What does it do?” Jim asked, frowning. “Does it make everyone drunk?” His crew was in danger. If more people got affected, if everyone _would_…

“Spock,” Jim breathed, crushed by the overwhelming desire to just snuggle up against someone, to escape this mess. But he could restrain himself just in time. Spock eyed him with concern written all over his face, and he whispered his name in worry.

“I’m all right,” Jim answered firmly, collecting himself. “Where is that thing now? We got to find it.”

Spock watched his tricorder carefully. “Just below us, Captain. It’s in sickbay.”

Great. “Let’s go,” Jim said quietly and left the giggling witch coven. Now Uhura started singing. Jim held his ears. All of this nonsense was crushing him.

They passed by Yeoman Tamura. She stopped them to report that not everyone on Deck Three seemed to be affected. In fact, as it turned out, only people dressed up for Halloween have shown abnormal behavior and sudden coldness.

“Interesting,” Spock said tonelessly. He pointed Jim to follow him to sickbay ere the creature moved on. “Only people in costume?” Jim repeated. “Why?”

“It adds to my findings,” Spock simply said.

“What findings?”

“That, for example, you, Captain, move much more swiftly. In a way that’s almost feline, one should say.”

Jim stopped walking. Feline? There it is again, that damned self-awareness. “Are you mocking me, Mister Spock?” he hissed. Spock turned around to face him. “You know that would never occur to me,” he said, grabbed Jim’s arm and guided him forwards, Vulcan sparkles tickling through the black fluff. Jim wanted to protest violently but found the rough gesture to be kind of pleasing. At least he now had affirmation it was the creature’s influence that made him feel like this, thank God.

When the door to sickbay opened, the two found a man sitting on the floor in front of a bed, sobbing. “Scotty,” Jim whispered and bend down to comfort him. “What happened? Where’s Chekov?”

Scott looked up with red eyes and tried to speak, but he just wept and wept.

“The creature is not here anymore,” Spock noted after a tricorder reading. There were no traces of a fight. Jim cursed under his breath, hissing. “Where’s Chekov?” he asked again.

“Left,” Scott groaned. “Me friend left.”

Spock asked him to articulate himself properly, but Jim waved him away, because Scott was helplessly absent. “Bones?” Jim called. No answer. “Find Doctor McCoy,” he said to Spock and got up to speak over the intercom. People needed to know that Chekov was somewhere on the Enterprise, sporting a real Russian sword, real Russian temper and the – apparently – real strength to bite open nuts. Like a real nutcracker. There were people in engineering who dressed up without leaving their posts. What if they –

“Doctor McCoy,” Jim heard Spock’s voice. He left Scott and ran to the bloodbank, where Spock was standing frozen in the doorframe. Jim looked at what was happening in front of them: It was Bones, no doubt, but he was huddling on the floor and coated in deep red blood. An opened blood bag was dripping in his hands, and his blue eyes fixated Jim with the most caught (albeit hilarious) expression he had ever seen on his chief medical officer.

“Jim,” he said slowly, dropping the bag in embarrassment as he got aware of what he was doing. Jim knew that laughing would be more than unfair right now. And that Spock would find this situation anything but funny, so he decided to swallow down his giggle.

“It just… came over me,” McCoy tried to explain. Jim nodded and helped him up to his feet. “I know, Bones. No judging. Mister Spock, I guess your theory proves to be right.”

“Indeed,” Spock said with a face somewhere between plain darkness and annoyance.

“You see, Bones,” Jim said, holding McCoy steady by his shoulders to comfort him, “I think Spock deduced that whatever is influencing us is, in fact, making us act like the monsters we dressed up as.”

“Wonderful,” Bones said sarcastically. He was trembling from embarrassment. Jim fished for his cape so that Bones had something to wipe his face. “Don’t worry about it,” Jim said, tentatively licking a drip of blood from his finger. Out of… curiosity. Disgusting.

“This is beyond science, Jim,” McCoy uttered. “I drank blood. Blood for my patients. I heard graveyard serenades…”

“Doctor,” Spock intervened, “would you please get a grip? The creature, whatever it is, is gone once again and we need to find it.”

“Yes, Spock,” McCoy snapped and looked the alien down, who changed his expression. Thus, Spock – despite the un-Vulcan gratification that must’ve sprung from seeing his rival-friend like this – gave him a slight smile with curled lips and a reassuring nod. As he filled McCoy in on the information they had gathered so far, Jim could not help but sigh at his friends’ affection for each other.

“Let’s go, gentlemen. Let’s see if Lieutenant Uhura can help us,” he suggested.

“Wait, why?” McCoy asked. “Oh, I see! You mean if we become actual Halloween monsters, then Uhura could develop witchcraft? That’s insane, Jim.”

“You just drank .56 liter of human blood, Doctor,” Spock reminded him, which Bones acknowledged with a grumbling bounce, followed by a teeth-exposing hiss.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him.

McCoy sighed. “You may be right. Let’s get going,” he said with a dramatic swing of his cape, mumbling curses about how tasteless green Vulcan blood would probably be.

“Someone has to take care of Mister Scott,” Jim said, but when they passed him by, the Frankenstein’s Monster had dropped off and softly sang in his sleep. They heaved him onto a bed, called Doctor M’Benga and security to watch him (and the bloodbank) and left.

On the corridor, Jim felt the coldness on his arm again. This time it was on his exposed chest, too. He shivered and stopped walking, faltering. In an instant, Spock was by his side.

“I’m fine,” Jim breathed – but there it was again, the intense need for physical contact. His hand rested on Spock’s arm, eyes meeting. Green on dark brown.

“I’m fine,” Jim said again. “Purrfectly… fine…”

“Captain.”

Jim blinked and stuck out his tongue in disgust. “Spock?” he asked softly. “Did I just… purr?”

“You did,” Spock attested.

“Are you guys coming?” McCoy’s vampire hiss called from down the corridor.

“Yes,” Spock called back without taking his eyes off Jim. “Let’s find that creature, I don’t wanna end up as some fake Caitian,” Jim said firmly and stepped forward, and now he couldn’t help but notice what ‘feline movements’ Spock had been describing earlier. He walked so swiftly, so beautifully coordinated and silently…

Jim stopped. “Oh, no.”

“What is it, Captain?”

“The creature. It touched me,” Jim remembered, still feeling the coldness on his skin. Stupid farm boy, always zoning out! He really needed to focus. “Scan the area,” he ordered. They had to get this figured out, because otherwise Jim would not be able to resist this cuddly feeling any longer. But the creature wasn’t here anymore.

Deck Three’s corridor and the rec room have turned into one big monster cave: mummies and skeletons walked the space ship, howling and groaning was all over the place, and Uhura and her coven had founded a witching circle right beside the buffet.

“How can we help, Captain?” she asked, eyes sparkling with golden stars – a startling contrast to the tired annoyance that had overwhelmed Jim by now. He filled her in and asked her to mix an antidote for this monster behavior that affected the dressed-up crewmembers. In turn, Uhura told them that no more incidents have been reported. Just that no one was able to take off their costume, apparently. And that Chekov was patrolling on the bridge and behaving peaceful. But reportedly, his movements have become increasingly ‘wooden’.

“That’s not good,” McCoy murmured nervously.

Spock was simply looking at the tricorder, not commenting.

“Do you really believe I can mix an actual witch potion?” Uhura asked quietly. Jim nodded. “If anyone can, it’s you, Lieutenant,” he said. She nodded, gracefully. “We will try and use these crystals and ingredients from the buffet and the laboratory,” she said and turned around. “May the magic of the stars be with us!”

“Yeah, right,” McCoy uttered, fixating the vampire punchbowl. Jim noticed his hungry eyes. “You should rather drink that than actual blood,” he recommended.

“It’s true,” McCoy remarked with a pale face. “But Jim… I’m…”

Jim rested a hand on his arm, stroking, which prompted McCoy to speak: “If we’re really turning into the things we’re dressed up as, then…”

“It is true, Doctor,” Spock said with an unreadable expression. Suddenly, Jim found the tricorder very unsettling. “What is it?” he inquired.

“Jim,” McCoy said quietly, “what’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think about vampires? Apart from the blood sucking?”

“They’re immortal,” Jim said unsurely.

“They are, according to the stories,” Spock said, “because they’re already dead.” Just hearing these words, Jim’s legs almost gave in. Were Bones and the other vampires, ghosts and skeletons _dying_? McCoy was already as pale as a corpse. He and the other crewmembers would be – Jim stopped his thoughts.

“We need that antidote,” he managed to say.

“I’m all right, Jim, don’t worry about me,” McCoy assured him. He did not blink, even though he should’ve blinked by now, shouldn’t he? “The thought of dying has never actually scared me. No, now I’m even… dare I say, excited. As of now I don’t feel the need to bite anyone’s neck, so…”

Jim nodded. “Stay here, Bones. And satisfy your vampire needs with that punchbowl as sufficiently as you can. And help Lieutenant Uhura with chemical knowledge if she requires help. Just make sure no more crewmembers get hurt. Meanwhile, Mister Spock and I will try to hunt down the creature.” They wished each other good luck and parted ways. And Jim could not stop thinking what McCoy had just said – party witches, ghost creatures and allover Halloween happiness. Death, but exciting and fun. Childlike Halloween bliss – it was as creepy as it was endearing.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jim’s and Spock’s search for the creature was abruptly cut short when the tricorder stopped reading it. It was nowhere to be found, neither by tricorders nor by the bridge’s scanners. Not even new traces from the moor elements appeared. The Enterprise was still orbiting B-001, but Jim didn’t even know which command to give next. As Captain, he was responsible. All he wanted was a fun Halloween party, and now he had to take care of this mess, even though it was this mess that made him feel so comfortable and cuddly in the first place. What a dilemma.

“It’s like it just vanished,” Spock mused. “Or maybe it can even shield itself. Fascinating.”

“Then, as of now, no one is in acute danger?”

“I would say so, for the moment. Maybe the absence of the moor’s elements will slow down the crew’s conversion processes.”

Jim silently leaned against the table. They were in the laboratory. Spock had folded his hands – his beautiful lean hands – in front of his face and pondered. Maybe he was calculating something, Jim didn’t know. It was hard to concentrate, because (against Spock’s hypothesis) the creature’s disappearance had not at all weakened those feline urges of cuddling and purring and lying down to stretch his body.

Just in this moment, he caught Spock eyeing him.

“What can we do now?” Jim asked. His skin warmed up beneath the fluffy shirt.

“Frankly, Captain, all we can do is wait. For either the Lieutenant to find an antidote against the crew’s monster habits or for the creature’s readings to be picked up by the scanners so that we can track it down and confront it.”

“I see.”

Jim looked down, but he heard Spock’s fascination when he said, “I would love to examine it. A creature, seemingly dead, that is capable of such power…”

“Would you like to transport down and search the planet?” Jim offered.

“That would hardly seem logical in our current state,” Spock said and crossed his arms. Jim nodded. All of this was so strangely ridiculous. “How lucky,” he said, “that you are not in costume, Mister Spock. Imagine both of us this messed up and unable to operate properly.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him. “’Messed up’? Yes, that was also my impression of you, although I do recall that you said you were fine, Captain. How do you feel?”

“Yes, err…” Jim wiggled a bit, he scratched his neck. Anything to distract him.

“Jim,” Spock’s deep voice whispered. Bewitching. “If anything is wrong, you must tell me. The readings show that your very DNA is being changed. We do not know what consequences await an affected human. The situation is hazardous and could put you in potentially great danger.”

“Come off it, Spock, I’m just… confused, that’s all,” Jim managed to say, but his First Officer did not go easy on him. It would be tempting to just –

“Please, Jim. I have not failed to notice your unease. If there is any way to help you, let me help.”

Okay. Bracing himself to show vulnerability, Jim closed his eyes, his head in his neck, breathing calmly. “This whole evening, there’s been one thing,” he purred with a sheepish smile and slowly lowered his body, so that he was spread on the empty table in front of Spock, whose eyes widened only a little bit.

“I feel very, very tired. I don’t know why,” Jim confessed with a weary smile. Thankfully the lab table wasn’t especially high – otherwise their noses would be even closer than they were now.

“It has been a strenuous day,” Spock said simply. He still looked down at Jim’s face, and somehow not looking away from the sight of this ridiculous and helpless human made Jim all tingly inside. He felt safe.

“Have you tried taking off your costume, Captain?”

Jim felt his face melt into a jovial smile. “What a question, Mister Spock… But no, doesn’t work. This whole evening it’s been getting worse,” he said. “Nothing bad. Just this urge to lay down and…” He trailed off, legs shifting. His breath wasn’t as steady as he’d wanted it to be.

Spock waited. There was a moment of silence ere Jim finally brought himself to speak again: “Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

Jim swallowed. Could he ask his First Officer for such a thing? His best friend?

“Could you caress me, please?”

Spock not answering made Jim anxious, but speaking the request out loud hadn’t felt as bad as he had feared it would. Au contraire, it was quite alleviating. Exciting even. “Those must be the feline behavior patterns,” Spock said somewhen. Jim giggled. “Yes,” he said, daring to open his eyes, just to find Spock was still looking, and the crinkles around his eyes were as curious as ever. “Captain, I find it’s interesting that the creature’s fallout is also affecting your physique,” he said.

“What?” Jim asked.

There was much amusement and affection in Spock’s expression when he answered, “Your eyes. Their color is greener than usual.”

Jim had to let that sink in for a moment. He smiled and shifted and stretched just as he desired, and the best part was that it was met by Spock with eyes full of warmth. How ridding, how freeing it was to move just as he felt!

“Thank you, Spock,” Jim said. “For not mocking me.”

“I know that I would never do that, Captain.”

Jim snickered. “I know, Spock. I know.” With the last bit of his Starfleet commanding dignity, he whispered, “Caress me.”

His hands grabbed the edge of the table to steady him as he pressed himself up further, head on the sterile surface. The hairband with the cat ears was still in place. “Come on, Spock,” he purred.

“Is this an order?”

“It’s not,” Jim snickered, flushing deeply. “You asked me if you could help, and this is how you can. I can hardly ask you to do this as my First Officer.”

Spock shifted. He had to convince himself first. “You know that I do like cats, Captain. And as a matter of fact, I also like you. Not only as my captain, but also on an interpersonal level,” he said carefully. Jim snickered from excitement. His whole body was sparkling, heart raging, and his skin warmed up so much under the black fluff that he’d loved to be able to just take it off.

“And if I remember Doctor McCoy correctly, then you monsters must act out of instinct.”

“Yes, that’s how I’d put it.” Jim could not possibly move closer to Spock’s arm. He rolled his head. “Do this as my friend. Watch your tricorder while you do it,” he said, green stars opening to look up into brown eyes. Anticipating.

“Very well,” Spock said. Yes…! Jim watched his long, skilled fingers turn on the cold technical device. Such clever hands. Spock, his Spock, tilted his head. And then, tentatively, the Vulcan sank those hands of his into Jim’s hair, right behind the feline ears.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Huh?”

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

Uhura frowned. Something cold had touched her and moved the potion’s container. Granted, she was new to the witch business – but that wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? “I don’t know,” she murmured and followed the icy trail lingering in the air. It let her further away into a dark corner of the room.

“Lieutenant?”

“I thought I felt something,” Uhura replied. The lights flickered, causing some crewmen to wince and the other witches to giggle in extasy. Energy flew through Uhura’s fingertips, tickling and icily cold. A bizarre howl floated through the recreation room, and by now Uhura was sure it was the creature. She grinned. “So, you wanna have fun, huh?” she whispered. With a swift motion, she turned around and grabbed the small pot they had used for the potion – the antidote – and murmured Swahili spells into it. The walls shuddered, the howling intensified, morphing into an ominous melody.

“The potion is not ready yet!” Doctor McCoy called.

“It is,” the other witches laughed. Uhura did not waste time anymore – with a powerful swing, she tossed the bubbly lilac liquid right into the room’s corner, causing a stirring explosion and sparkling purple smoke.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

_Captain’s Log, Stardate… around 3110.9. Only now am I beginning to understand what kind of degree my transformation has reached. I am… delighted by the simplest touches and feel more relaxed and at peace than… – I’ve not felt this way in a long time. Despite not having attached the cat tail to my costume earlier this evening, it is now undoubtably twirling around my leg and… Further information will follow. Kirk… out._

What a terrible time to have concentrated thoughts. The tricorder’s hypnotic hums caressed Jim’s soul just like Spock’s long Vulcan fingers did. They had been cold at first, but by now they were all heated up. Spread on the sterility of the lab table, he had turned onto his back some time ago to give them access to his half-naked chest.

Jim could not possibly know for sure, but it would’ve been a miracle if the situation’s sexual overtones had escaped Mister Spock’s otherwise so attentive nature. His Vulcan ears must’ve registered Jim’s desperate sounds, his dark eyes must’ve caught the tight pants, his nerve-covered fingers felt his raging heartbeat. And possibly more. Vulcans are so perceptive, so sensitive, that Jim feared the emotions that have been boiling up during this… _session_, would not be a secret of his own. Who knew the exact degree of Vulcan empathy anyway?

Just now Spock found soft skin near Jim’s collarbone, stroked it expertly, pulling a moan from him, prompting Jim’s own hand to rub over the fluffy fabric that covered his nipple, despite knowing how dangerously close his Mister Spock was to perform a Vulcan nerve pinch on him.

“Please don’t,” Jim breathed – begged. _Let me have this. I deserve to have this._

The graveyard serenades Bones had been talking about, Jim could hear them now. A comforting howl in his ears, more tender than a tinnitus, melodious even.

“Jim…”

“Yes, don’t stop.” It was so exciting to have Spock explore his chest, eyes closed and just focused on the touch. If only it was purely sexual, Jim thought in bitter irony. The human part of his body shivered under the Vulcan digits, moaned, sweat, wrothe. The feline parts however…

Those parts were purring. Relaxed. Kittenish. The black tail began to play with Spock’s wrist, which finally pulled a sound from the Vulcan. A breath. Jim smiled, probably exposing a row of blending white teeth. “Mister Spock,” he purred, “do you melt already?”

Jim could hear the smirk in his friend’s baritone when he answered, “Do you?”

“Illogical to ask,” Jim said with mischief. He got adventurous, reached upwards for Spock’s right hand. He let him. And Jim guided it to his neck, deliciously tight under the choker. Two hands. Two hands caressing him, up and down, big hands, tender and clever. Shoving the black fabric aside to slip under it, yes, to explore more skin. Jim spread his legs even further on the hard table as the pleasure spread on his body just as fast as the feline thankfulness, right to his toes.

“Don’t stop. Keep that speed, my pumpkin.”

“Pumpkin?” Spock asked, thankfully without changing the pressure of his digits on Jim’s bare skin, thankfully, oh, _thank God_. Just a bit further and his nipples would… In blissful extasy, Jim threw back his head, exposing his chocked neck, stroking it just as he finally permitted his other hand to wander down, down. Stars. If only his Mister Spock would caress him there, spoil him, spoil him…

Instead he went for the cat ears, fondled them, stroked them. _Yes_. “Captain?”

“Pumpkin…”

“Mortals!”

With what felt like a heart-attack, Jim jumped from the table, screeching loudly. His hair stood up and his voice was hissing as he eyed the intruder from behind the table: In a blaze and a disquieting amount of fog, there was a dark figure with sparkling blue eyes.

“Bones?” Jim murmured.

“Yes,” McCoy replied after a moment of eyeing the scenery, arms folded dramatically. Jim’s eyes darted to Spock, who had closed his eyes in such frustration that Jim wanted to crawl onto his lap to soothe him. His cat tail twitched, and he cleared his throat. “What brings you here?” he asked in search for his Captain voice. Spock’s eyebrows would not lower.

“First of all, I apologize if I have scared you,” McCoy said uncharacteristically slow. “For I have come to you tonight to bare you good news.”

“Did you?” Jim asked with his eyes on Spock, who he could see sporting a green blush on his pointy ears. Well-shaped ears… Spock was mentally putting himself back together. Had he allowed himself to much? Had Jim pushed him too far?

“Your plan, young Master James, has worked,” McCoy’s alien vampire growl continued. “Supreme Witch Uhura has not only found an antidote for the monstrous behaviors of the crew, which she is currently distributing to one man after another – she has also found the intruder. She’s keeping it in Recreation Room number three, awaiting your commands.”

Jim felt his nose and thus his whiskers twitch. “Really?”

“Yeah. Amazing, ain’t it?” McCoy drawled with a cute smile that revealed his fangs. Jim swallowed. “You better go get that antidote for yourself, Bones. Mister Spock and I will follow.”

“Very well. Into the night!” McCoy hissed and left with a swing of his cape and a jovial laugh. The fog followed him like a spooky shadow.

As soon as the lab’s doors swished closed, Jim rolled back his shoulders and stepped away from the table to comfort Spock, whose arms were crossed again. Seated straight, he was hovering above the tricorder.

“According to the readings, Doctor McCoy is dead,” he said in his usual, toneless voice.

“Well, he didn’t seem particularly upset about it,” Jim shrugged. His attention was completely on the Vulcan. He desperately wanted to lay a hand onto his shoulder, like he always did, but controlled himself. Instead, he just whispered, “I’m sorry. I should’ve known this would distress you. I apologize for my behavior.”

“It is not your fault,” Spock said with a look up. “If I remember correctly, I have agreed to this action beforehand, even if I cannot deny a certain extrinsic influence that encouraged me to do so.”

“An influence?” Jim asked. “But you’re not dressed-up as anything, how would the creature affect you?”

Spock slightly shook his head. “It is not logical.”

Jim’s face softened at the sound of that word. “No, it’s not.”

Spock’s head turned again. “And neither is the name you used to address me. Another Halloween tradition, I presume. It was most fascinating. All in all, the state you were in was… fascinating,” he said, dark eyes curious and gentle.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Jim smiled and put both hands behind his back. Those words really were a relief. “Let us go now and have a look at that intruder.”

“Yes,” Spock replied as though he had forgotten about that information already. As he got up, his eyes darted to Jim’s V-neck – for a millisecond he thought Spock wanted to adjust his collar. With a smile, Jim did it himself. He’d need a mirror for the mess of his hair though…

They informed Uhura over the intercom and left for the rec room. And all the while Jim desperately hoped his raging erection would calm down. It did not – not even at the cost of avoiding to take another look at those Vulcan hands. Oh, how he wished he could just push him down and place himself on this strong alien’s lap, closer, closer, and –

On his lap? James Kirk, what are you _thinking_?

With a boiling red head, Jim excused himself to take care of the matter himself: “I could use some milk now,” he proclaimed loudly and send Spock in advance. He’d follow later; for now, he needed to head to his quarters.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Your eyes are a lovely color,” McCoy said with a happy bounce.

“Thanks,” Jim said drily, but his swaying tail gave him away. His doctor’s fangs were gone, that was reassuring. Jim turned to enter the rec room, where Spock was waiting with Uhura, Scott and some other officers. Wow – to his shock, everyone was already back to normal and in uniform, but Jim was too tired of everything to give a damn. He stepped into the room as he was: black fluff ball with whiskers, tail and cat ears. Nobody laughed. Good.

“Well, where is our troublemaker?” he asked to downplay a feline hiss.

“She’s here,” Uhura said with a smile and stepped aside to reveal the intruder.

Jim did not believe his eyes. About forty inches above the ground, there was a ghost, small and hovering. A ghost that looked like it sprung from a children’s Halloween book – a round white bedsheet with big dark eyes that blinked at Jim so sweetly he actually softened.

“A baby ghost,” he murmured.

“I named her Boo,” Uhura said and petted the round creature. “Isn’t she cute? I made her visible with a crystal potion that I came up with. She had also spoken to me as long the spell was still working, but now it has worn off.”

“Naturally,” Jim said and sat down onto the ground to be at height with the ghost. She howled in high tones and squinted the dark holes as if she was smiling at him. “She is similar to the ghosts from your Earth legends,” he heard Spock say, “meaning she is undead, just as the readings indicated from the start. The elements she spread on the ship really are identical with those we found on the planet earlier.”

“But what is she doing here?” Jim asked and reached out to pet her, despite flinching. The ghost wiggled happily at the touch. She was icily cold. So it was you who touched me before, Jim thought.

“She told me we accidently beamed her up with us,” Uhura told him. “She had followed the landing party because she’s just so curious, the little one. But then, all of a sudden, she was up here, separated from her ghost friends in a strange environment full of people who could not notice her at all.”

Jim began to realize. “So, you tried to model the Enterprise after your world, hm, Boo?” he asked fondly.

“Well, that probably wasn’t too complicated during this holiday,” McCoy added. Jim softened. “You felt lonely, hm?” he asked. Boo wiggled.

“All she wanted were some friends,” Uhura said. “Monster-friends, so to speak. Not only that, but she’d thought we’d be happier if we did not have to dress up, so she decided to give us… the real thing. So to speak.”

‘The real thing’. Real shivers, real pleasure. Little to argue with that.

“I see,” Jim just said and stood up straight again. “Well, little Boo, I am truly sorry we have caused you trouble. I’m glad we’re on good terms and have been all the time. However, you must admit that killing my crewmen, including this ship’s surgeon, wasn’t your best move.”

“I’m back in good health, Jim,” McCoy argued, almost offended by the statement towards the baby creature, and Boo made a giggly sound at this grumbling tone.

“Indeed,” Spock added, “readings do indicate that the cell regeneration and somatic functions of all the make-believe dead are back to normal. In addition, this process may give us important information about human regeneration and self-healing.”

“Okay,” Jim just said. Listening to his First Officer talking like that made him all cuddly again. “I’ll need some of that antidote, Lieutenant,” he said to Uhura, who handed him the last flask. He ordered everyone to get back to their post, closing the Halloween party, and made preparations to beam down onto the planet’s surface to get the ghost back home. They would come back for cultural exchange and research after having contacted Starbase Four.

“I myself will beam down alone. It is important we keep the radius small in order to not beam more lifeforms onto this ship,” Jim explained, fumbling playfully with the flask in his hands, even though he wasn’t nervous at all. Stupid cat genes, it was about time to get rid of them.

But just after he had spoken, Boo whimpered and hovered next to Spock, to whom she began to sing her ghostly howls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jim asked to distract himself from the flask.

“Well, if I could take a wild guess,” Scott chimed in, “I’d say she’d rather beam down with Mister Spock, sir.”

“Really?” Jim asked. Spock’s eyes were searching the ghost for something, his fingers were twitching restlessly. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Can’t do what?” Jim asked.

Spock turned to face him – only him, although the room was still full of people – “She asks me to stay with her on B-001. She wants to introduce me to her friends and have me stay forever,” he said hoarsely. “Eternity,” he mouthed – uncharacteristically shaken. Had she pleaded him? What had she sung to him? Could Spock understand her language?

Ears twitching calmly, Jim answered, “We can’t have that. This man is this vessel’s First Officer, and Science Officer.”

Boo made a questioning sound, cold air spreading in the room. McCoy cursed under his breath.

“You must not take him, do you understand? He is vital to the continuation of this mission,” Jim argued. But after a quick glance at Spock and his parted lips, he found a better argument: “Most important of all, he is my personal friend. You don’t want to take away my friend, do you?”

Boo shook her round body. The cold faded away.

Jim smiled and stepped towards her. “I knew you’d understand. But I also know it’s hard, being trapped her all alone. If you like, Mister Spock can accompany you home. But you must promise to bring him back, okay?” As he spoke, he extended a hand, and Boo flew around it in circles, howling. An agreement.

Just a few minutes later, the transporter room was ready, and Spock and the baby ghost (barely visible by now because the potion’s effect had begun to wear off) beamed down.

Spock found it had been logical of the Captain to establish friendly relations with the ghost folk while also keeping the contact as short as possible. They beamed down at the moor which the landing party had previously explored, and Spock felt the cold through the fabric of his uniform as the creature searched for body contact. Fascinating. What a perceptive lifeform, intelligent and in need of physical contact and company. It was ironic how very human it was.

Spock activated the tricorder, but soon found the precaution readings were unnecessary, because the creature was leading him by herself and obviously knew what she was doing. Deeper into the blue forest, over hills and through swamps where large insects were hiding, she moved with sovereignty. Spock always made sure he would be able to reach his communicator with one single gesture in the case of an emergency – but strangely, his heartbeat and breathing indicated no alertness or stress of any kind. He was all calm.

After 11.7 minutes of not communicating with Spock, the creature stopped and spun around, barely more than a ball of pale mist and coldness.

_This hill is my home_ .✧･°

Spock replied with a respectful nod. He shoved away a branch full of moss to get through to the foot of the hill, a gradient of 38.6%, onto which the crystal-clear stars sparkled down from up above. All fog was gone as the creature hurried up the hill with happy howling.

_I am back home! I returned from the stars! Look… who I… brought with me…_✧･ﾟ: *

Spock squinted his eyes, fingers twitching on his tricorder. It was increasingly hard to understand the creature, which was only logical, seeing how the magic on him wore off more and more. Despite that, his poetically charged thoughts increased. He straightened up to look presentable anyway and introduced himself and the Enterprise, voice laced with restraint, to this seemingly empty hill of green night grass.

No one answered him, and it was cold.

Then, with a soft glow from one of the moons, he heard another howling. Faint and soft, but it was there. A third howl joined the sound, moving in a melody of Earth harmonies mixed with something far more alien, something from far out in the universe. Harmonizing.

And yet…

Breathing calmly, Spock felt all of his features soften. Shoulders slopped down, eyes closed themselves. He was listening to the song, this graveyard serenade, as the Doctor had called it. Spock had heard it before.

More howls joint the singing, soft and yearning. Some high like whistles, some roaring low. Slow music full of emotion, music at its finest. As he played on his lute when he needed catharsis.

Spock had heard this song before, when he had been helping Jim to relax in his increasingly transforming body. It was there, right beneath his fingers. He had heard it when they got ready for the contact on bare skin, he had heard it when they had started moving. When his fingertips had been sparkling and glowing with Jim Kirk’s essence and joy. And excitement, undeniably.

‘Do you melt already?’ he had asked. Spock had thought of it as another human throwaway comment, but now he understood – Jim had meant _this_ melting. To mellow and indulge and to let convention be just that: convention. Not a law of nature, not a dogma. He had been right in his fear for Spock to perform a nerve pinch on him just to escape the emotional situation, but Spock hadn’t gone through with it, because he had taken heart. It might have been the right decision.

Faint and melancholic, the voices were singing for him, just like they had back then. Only now there was something more powerful about them, something less lonely. A sentiment that was hard to catalogue… It was not fear, although the Earth holiday suggested it would be. In addition, Jim’s bodily condition had partly been that of _fear_ – fastened heartbeat, sweat, rushing blood, helpless sounds, adrift thoughts of both panic and comfort – but his actual feelings had been different. Yet just as simple.

Feelings Spock did not dare name, even in his mind.

He opened his eyes to watch the universe above. His human half found it almost amusing how a glance upwards into the sky could have this much of an impact on one, with all these warm impulses. The memories of what had been and the yearning for what could be.

The realization.

Because now, a thought grew in Spock’s mind, deeper and deeper, and it would not stop growing even after the serenade had trailed off, not even after beaming back up and especially not after receiving a sparkling smile from his Captain as he returned. Just like the ghost song, this thought was woven into the very stars that surrounded Spock every day on the Enterprise. And just like the stars, he feared it would keep on accompanying him from now on. New, yet familiar to things he’d felt before, and comforting despite all the uncertainty.

Despite the fear, he could not help but enjoy it. It was a simple, albeit undeniably nice feeling, linked to the golden shine of his Captain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Feels good to be back on schedule, right?” Jim asked as he settled into the commanding chair. Bones to his left and Spock to his right, as things had always been. The bridge was beeping and roaring her usual sounds and the speed was steady – space travel as it should be.

“It is refreshing to not want to suck at everybody’s neck, but I’ll miss the cape and dramatic speech patterns,” McCoy admitted. “Just like you’ll miss those fluffy ears.”

“Ohh, I won’t miss them,” Jim half-lied (glad to be back both in his uniform and his fully human body) and looked up at Spock and his pointy ears. Spock’s report on what had happened on the planet’s surface had been awfully short, which was disappointing when you considered how intelligent and perceptive of a creature Boo was. Relations with her kind had potential. But she had just disappeared – she would be a joy to come back to. Hopefully they would not need any witch potions for another contact. At least Spock seemed to be fed up for good with all the Halloween stuff, and only God knew what kind of effect that creature had had on him.

Thankfully he was not too awkward around Jim, their friendship had – apparently – not been affected by the incident on the laboratory table.

Jim smiled. “Why, Boo must’ve thought of you as a monster-friend despite not being costumed. That would explain her influence on you,” he said and smiled up at Spock, who slightly turned his head to return the glance rather dreamily, for Vulcan standards at least.

McCoy giggled. “Yeah, Mister Spock. Must’ve been those charming ears of yours.”

“Thank you, Doctor McCoy,” Spock said – without paying attention to McCoy at all. His dark eyes were just with Jim. Shining, just for a moment.

And Bones started frowning. “Wait, what influence? On Spock? To do what?” he asked.

Thankfully, Spock did not reply to that. He just exchanged another knowing glance with Jim, crinkles around his eyes, and returned to his console with his hands behind his back. Jim’s gaze lingered on him just for a little longer.

He would not miss the cat ears, no, but he already felt like cuddling again, despite Boo being gone. However, Jim decided that overthinking possible complications and afterglows of either the ghost alien or the soft pet name of ‘pumpkin’ would not be worth it. He’d just indulge it in. Comfortable in his chair, he stretched, but he did not purr. He hummed the little melody he had heard in the back of his mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. End Chapter One .* :☆ﾟ. ───

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re having a bad day, [check out the ghost choir <3 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXF3VYYa5TI)
> 
> These characters are such fun to write ahh!!! Thank you for reading & enjoy late October .✧･ﾟ: *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween trekkies! I had so much fun writing this that I decided to do a short but sweet follow-up chapter. I hope you enjoy ♡

_Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 3611.3. Days have passed since the ship’s Halloween party and the incident on the laboratory table, yet my mind wanders back to that night all too often. Although my ability to command the ship is not in danger, I am worried about my mental state. Was to let my First Officer and dear friend touch me so intimately a wise decision? Then again, neither of us have been ourselves, as Spock had pointed out. And yet… I wonder if I would feel different now had I not been overwhelmed by my… desires, back then._

Jim sighed and stared at his quarters’ ceiling. Boo was gone, all that Halloween nonsense was over, his body was back to normal – everything as it should be. Doctor McCoy was his usual self (continuing to donate so much of his own blood that he eventually passed out) and all other crewmembers behaved the same way as always.

Everyone, except Jim himself.

At first, Jim had been relieved to no end that Spock was talking to him at all and not cold-shouldering him. It would’ve been perfectly justified for him to act estranged for some time, or even to reduce their relationship to a purely professional one, Jim thought. Not only because of the ridiculously sexual nature of that situation – hands on bare skin, arousal all over his writhing body – Jim knew that every single emotion is able to attack Spock’s carefully crafted wall between his human and his Vulcan self. What if the touches or, even worse, Jim’s own feelings had hurt him? He feared he had scarred the Vulcan heart.

But no, Spock did not give him the cold shoulder. They spoke just as often, they looked each other into the eyes just as often. Deeper than before, even, because Jim continued to look for clues. Whether or not Spock was truly all right, he did not dare ask him. He also did not dare touch him. Maybe Boo had taken all the negative memories of that night, taken the emotional pain, and he did not want to stir Spock up in case everything had already been taken care of. So, he just stared. He spotted more curious sparkles in Spock’s eyes, he noticed the softness around pouting Vulcan lips, and all of that made his own feelings worse.

His own feelings. Jim kept referring to them like this in his mind, but he did not dare think about their exact nature. Did he love his friend? Of course he did. But not like this, he had thought. Not Spock. Vulcans did have a sexual drive, he knew that, but what about romance? Were all of their marriages those of pure convenience?

If Jim felt love for Spock, could Spock ever reciprocate?

Jim shook himself violently to get rid of all these questions – but the memory of those long fingers on his chest, around his neck, behind the ears, that memory stayed. It left him wide awake in the middle of the night.

Sighing, he got up. He should distract himself and go to the rec room.

Doors swished open and Jim found Lieutenant Uhura and Officer Scott drinking tea together. Politely, he asked if he could join them. Scott looked right through him. “Trouble sleeping, sir?” he asked softly. For someone who preferably surrounded himself with mechanical engines and robots, he was far too perceptive, Jim thought. He returned the smile. “Yes, exactly,” he said, which wasn’t a lie exactly.

“Bee balm is good for calming down, better than Doctor McCoy’s pills,” Uhura said, cupping her mug with both hands. Jim noticed the crystal and moon patterns on her colorful nails. “You still embrace that witch aesthetic, huh?” he asked gently.

“I do,” Uhura sighed with a smile. “I can’t stop thinking about that night. It was magical.”

“Aye, magical indeed,” Scott agreed. He handed Jim a cup of tea from the synthesizer. It was good to hear someone talk about this openly – Jim wasn’t the only one.

“Would you say that many crewmembers still think about it?” he asked cautiously.

“Why, yes,” Scott said, “you should hear Chekov! He talks about little else.”

Jim nodded. He wouldn’t know. The sudden realization that he barely spent any free time together with other officers hit him like a bittersweet brickwall.

“That night was exceptional,” Uhura said quietly. “I mean, who thought such things to be possible? It’s only natural to remember them. I want to remember them, I wouldn’t want to forget.”

Jim nodded. He wondered for how long he would still remember the hard table beneath and the moving hands on top of him.

The three sat in silence until Uhura started humming a melody – and Jim stiffened. He knew the song, it was the melody he had heard in his head back then. His ‘graveyard serenade’, as Bones had called it.

“Isn’t that song nice?” he heard Scott sigh. “No matter what time o’ day, it always calms me down. It’s almost as if it keeps some of that night’s magic with us.”

“You heard it, too? This melody, back at Halloween?” Jim asked. Scott smiled into the middle distance. “Aye,” he said. Uhura continued humming, and Jim felt himself melt. Melt into the softness that was Spock’s skin on his own.

“It’s a pity not everyone has heard it.”

“A pity, yes,” Jim agreed absently. Without having touched his tea, he returned to his quarters. He obviously needed a lot of sleep. The pills ought to do.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Captain was not concentrated as of lately. Spock had begun to eye him more closely ever since the night of Halloween, and he had noticed a lot of abnormalities in his behavior. He ate less, which was always a sign of stress for the Captain, but Doctor McCoy hadn’t noticed yet. The Captain also slept less, indicated by the increasingly distinct circles around his eyes all well as his overall fatigue and occasional tenseness. The auburn hair, especially the one lock that Spock enjoyed watching so much, looked like it hadn’t been taken care of for the longest time. In conclusion, something was obviously wrong with the Captain, and it was surprisingly worrisome.

Spock had offered to massage him for relaxation before, but Jim had reclined most clearly, even though he had found Spock’s massages to be quite satisfactory in the past. So today, Spock tried again. As an answer, Jim blew air out of his nose, lips pressed together as he fixated Spock with his eyes. And then said eyes silently darted down to Spock’s hands.

Ah, so it was indeed _that_. “I understand,” Spock said truthfully.

“What?” Jim asked with raised eyebrows as though the answer wasn’t clear by now. Spock found comfort in the certainty that now everything made sense.

“I am sorry,” he said with as much empathy as he could muster. So, it was true – the Halloween night’s experience must’ve left such an impact on his Captain that he was close to unable to operating the ship.

But it had been Jim’s own decision. He had begged Spock to caress him, driven by presumably animalistic desires, paired with the feelings of friendship, brotherhood and love he cultivated – an explosive combination of experiences, Spock figured, even for a human; but Jim had to settle things with himself first and foremost. Spock shouldn’t interfere. He should give him more time and wait for Jim to make the warm fuzz return in his stomach and for the caramel skin to melt under his fingertips once more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ﾟ☆:. How has your time with these people been? ✧･°

_Very fun! I hope they are well now…_✧:･°.

*☆:. Why shouldn’t they? ✧:･°

_I have seen their hearts. They are like willows in the wind, and they burn just as easily. But their roots reach deep. Deeply entwined, intertwined. And when I was with them, they glowed. Once they’ll see each other, it means that the fire does not blind anymore. Rather, it will light the way, I believe_. ✧･ﾟ: *

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Thank you for coming,” Jim said. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and turned around to face Spock, who had discretely stepped into his room. Doors swished close softly.

“I have been worried about you, Captain.”

“Please,” Jim uttered. “This is off the records. You’re not here as Science Officer, or First Officer.”

Spock quirked an intrigued eyebrow at him, hands behind his back. Jim licked his lips. “I’m… I’ve called you here as my friend,” he said.

“I see,” Spock said, batting his beautiful eyelashes at him. “I presume this is also the reason for which you are wearing the fake cat ears again.”

“That is correct,” Jim replied. They held eye contact for a while until Spock turned around to lock the door. Jim sat down on his bed, limbs tingling.

“The massage would be more effective if you’d take off your uniform,” Spock said. Jim could hear the smile in his voice when he quietly added, “Jim.”

“Very well.”

Jim wondered why he had ever declined another massage from Spock. Vulcan hands were made for such things – they were strong, they were clever, they knew exactly where to push to get rid of the tension in Jim’s muscles. They knew exactly when to push hard.

“Do you feel like a cat again?” Spock’s baritone asked into Jim’s ear, sending shivers down to his toes, kneading his back’s muscles in all the right places.

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because your purring indicates that more feline behavioral patterns will follow. I’d like to help you evoke them.”

“Very well, Mister Spock,” Jim said and turned around to face his master, legs stretching, bare chest and nipples presented and ready for Vulcan fingers to caress them. “Sit down,” Jim breathed and slung his arms around the strong neck, “so I can sit in your lap. I want to be in your lap.”

Grinding, purring, Jim wrothe as his cock grew bigger in his tight pants. Always against that hot groin. He would’ve never thought himself to be this flexible – Vulcan digits pulled him closer and shoved him away again, messed up his hair, stroked over his nipples, left their sparkling traces on his skin. The room spun when parted lips found the sensitive juncture between Jim’s neck and shoulder, and he gasped, moaned, threw his head back for air. Closer, more friction, more friction…

“You can’t sit still, needy kitty, can you?”

“No,” Jim moaned. “No, I can’t.” Blissful laughter shook his torso, he shivered in pleasure.

“You really can’t sit still, filthy kitty?”

“No,” Jim gasped, sucking at the green neck to leave dark love bruises. Grinding, grinding.

“In that case I must take disciplinary action against you to protect myself. Your selfish exploitation of others for your own zest disgusts me.” With that, long Vulcan fingers – suddenly burning as hot as fire – placed themselves near Jim’s helpless neck, making him fall backwards as everything around him grew black.

He startled, and Jim was upright in his bed, gasping, breathing hard. Face flushed. Where was Spock?

“Spock…”

Jim needed a moment or two to realize he was alone in his quarters and had only been dreaming. Yes, a dream… an undeniably wet dream.

Oh, God damn it, not again. God dammit! Jim cursed in his tired head and rubbed his eyes furiously. Where was his glass of water? He felt like collapsing, but he knew he had to get up. This kindergarten nonsense could not go on.

With waggly legs, he made his way to Spock’s quarters, stumbling through cold corridors because of his sleepiness. But Jim had to get things sorted now, because in the morning he might’ve made up his mind and never talk to Spock about them at all. About these feelings.

If Jim was not under the ghost’s influence anymore, then these romantic feelings and sexual desires were undoubtedly his own. It was only… logical. The first step was taken, yes. Jim had admitted to himself that he was… _in love_ with his First Officer, his best friend.

The second step however, Jim feared, would be impossible. To openly confront Spock with such emotions would be downright disrespectful, but at least not as disrespectful as fantasizing about sex when offered a massage. Why, what a thought to hang on to.

Jim hesitated to ring the bell to Spock’s place, breathing heavily. How do you tell someone you love them when the one thing able to destruct them are feelings? He should stop this cloak-and-dagger operation and wait for the morning after all, shouldn’t he? He was too tired, and he was helpless. With a sigh of desperation, Jim let his throbbing head fall forward against the door.

It swished open and let him sink right into someone’s arms, arms to clutch. Arms surrounded by soft fabric, perfect to bury your nose in. How lovely, lavender smell.

“Jim?” It was barely above a whisper, but it was heavy enough to rouse him. Jim blinked and stood up semi-straight, sniffing. “Spock,” he said tonelessly.

“Why are you wearing a powdering gown?” Spock asked, soft voice laced with amusement. Jim brought himself to make eye contact, only to find that his First Officer was wide awake. Embarrassed, Jim managed to say, “I was… sleeping,” and let Spock lead him inside without any protest. These quarters were always so warm – it made Jim even dizzier. “I am sorry,” he said and rubbed his eyes when he felt that Spock guided him to a chair by gently touching his arm.

“Do not apologize. I was not going to go to bed anytime soon,” Spock said. Jim found the Vulcan lute on top of his desk.

“I’m sorry, were you… were you gonna play something?” he mumbled.

Spock turned his head to look at the instrument. “In fact, I was.”

“I didn’t want to break in like that, God, I feel terrible,” Jim murmured.

“Is there any way I can help to make you feel better?”

“No, I mean I feel terrible about this situation… not my health, Spock.”

“Is there any way I can help to make you feel better?” Spock repeated, and Jim knew that he looked right through him, as always. As Jim watched his kind eyes and the soft crinkles around them, he threw every cautionary thought out of the window: “You can let me talk.”

Spock nodded slightly. “Very well,” he said and leaned back against the wall next to the chair. Eyes on Jim. Waiting patiently for this ridiculous human to find words to describe what was going on inside of him. What had been going on inside of him for a long time by now, apparently.

“Spock, I…” Jim swallowed. No, he had to start differently. So instead of talking about himself, Jim asked, “Do you remember the Halloween party we had a few days ago?”

There was no movement in Spock’s face when he answered. “Yes.”

“Everything?” Jim asked quietly. His hands were folded so violently they started to hurt. He watched Spock take a somewhat deep breath and heard him say, “Surely you intend to refer to is the time around when we lost track of the intruder and you asked me to assist you in complying to your increasingly feline urges.”

“Yes, that.” Jim looked down in boiling red shame. Images and fleeting sparkles of touch reappeared on his skin. He sucked in a breath. “You know, you said these urges were born out of us being… transformed, by that creature, into monsters and… well, Halloween monsters, yeah.” He pressed his lips together, but Spock waited without pushing him. “Meaning the… ‘urges’, as you call them, and all those feelings you undoubtedly felt boiling up inside me – that would’ve stopped once Uhura had the antidote and Boo had been gone, right?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim almost laughed. “Turns out it wasn’t like that.” He huffed. “That’s what been keeping me awake the past few days. I feel terrible telling you this, because somehow I wished Boo might’ve already taken those horrible memories from you. Maybe she knew they’d hunt you even worse than they’d hunt me, day and night, anywhere and everywhere. I did not intend to hurt you, Spock, I really did not. I was not thinking, I was just being selfish.” Now Jim did laugh. “Even telling you this now,” he said, “I am disgusted by myself. For… allowing myself to burden you with this. I am so deeply sorry.”

Jim’s eyes started to burn, and he looked down, unable to meet Spock’s gaze, it lingered, he could feel it. Spock said his name, but all Jim can do was to bite his lip and duck.

“Jim,” Spock said again. “What makes you think you hurt me?”

“I hurt you,” Jim blurted out, “when I unleashed all of these emotions onto you, even though I know what such situations mean to you and your mental health. To both your ability to serve as First Officer _and_ to your sensitive, fragile, beautiful soul.” Suddenly very brave, Jim raised his head, breathed in sharply and fixated Spock’s eyes with his.

There was no anger written in the Vulcan edges, no, they weren’t even sharp, Jim found. Spock’s whole face was just as soft as before and tinted with a calm smile. A tender eyebrow jolted upwards.

“You should hear yourself talking, Jim.”

Jim pressed his lips together and cowered in silent agreement. Spock swayed, moving away from the wall. “Your dramatic speeches are not easy to follow, but they are most interesting. Just as my mission when returning the ghost to her homeplace was most enlightening,” he said and took the lute. Jim straightened up as he watched him sit down onto the bed and tune it. Long fingers gliding over wood and strings, pulling graciously. And before he knew it, the notes fell down into a stream. Spock was playing a song, quiet and alien, yet familiar. A faraway melody.

Jim’s eyes widened – the ghost song. The graveyard serenade, eerily beautiful and far too familiar by now. Taken aback by the comfort the gentle music gave him, Jim slopped down in the chair. He could even hum along. It was Boo’s song, no doubt.

How could Spock know that song? His eyes were only on Jim as he played. Dark, deep eyes. Kind eyes, looking through batting eyelashes and glowing with _something_ so silky that Jim did not dare look away in fear of missing it.

Spock broke the contact by eying the instrument instead, brows raised and lips somewhat smirking. He knew what he was doing, and Jim felt awkwardly caught. He closed his eyes and did not move even after the music had trailed off.

“This was what I have heard on B-001 when I had accompanied the alien specimen. To transform it into lute music was tricky, admittedly.”

“You did a great job, Spock,” Jim assured him absently. The room was coming back into focus, but only slowly.

“Thank you. Your verdict shows me that you know this melody just as well as I do. At first, I had thought it was something utmost personal, different to every individual hearing. But all crewmen that were under the influence of the ghost alien have heard the same melody play in their minds, with only minor variations, as I have noticed.”

“How can you notice such a thing?” Jim asked tonelessly.

Spock now visibly smirked. “By listening closely, Jim,” he said. “When drifting off or concentrating or feeling especially well, humans sometimes tend to sing or hum melodies. I listened to crewmembers and compared the melodies. Although it is difficult to play this key on the Vulcan lute, what you just heard was the serenade in D major: the same key you used to hum this very melody in.”

Spock gave the last words a special emphasis and looked at Jim as if he expected a very specific reaction to that statement. But Jim just licked his lips.

“All right,” he said. A cocked eyebrow hit him in turn. “All right?” Spock repeated. “Meaning, you accept my statement and now feel better than before?”

“Yes,” Jim said, tired. “You lied in your report on what happened on B-001,” he added wearily.

“I did not lie, I left out,” Spock corrected.

There was a pause as Jim’s tired mind tried to process what had just happened: Spock knew the graveyard serenade, meaning Boo did have an influence on him after all. Back on the bridge, Jim had used that possibility to build it around another joke about pointy ears, but apparently the joke had been reality.

Spock had been worried. He had heard the song, he knew the song by heart. He liked it, he experienced the emotions it brought up and he expected, no, he _wanted_ Jim to have a really emotional connection to it as well.

“You’re not angry,” Jim realized.

“Affirmative,” Spock said. “I am also neither upset nor hurt. I never was, not even when…” He looked overchallenged for a brief second.

“Not even when I was… coming undone right beneath your hands?” Jim completed quietly.

“It was a new feeling. Hard to catalogue. But certainly nothing hurtful.”

“I see.”

Another pause. Somewhere deep below them, the ship’s engines were roaring smoothly into the dark nights of outer space.

“Spock,” Jim said into the warm silence of the room. “Spock, I think I love you.” Helpless eyes darted up to meet Spock’s, who simply answered, “After all that has happened, my analysis suggests that the feeling is mutual.”

“Mutual?”

“Yes.”

How mundane. Jim frowned, but it was playful. “And you’re not offended by it?” he asked carefully, even though the answer was clear and obvious and wonderfully distinct by now. He felt relieved. Spock agreed with the sentiment, apparently, because he was quirking another sarcastic eyebrow at Jim as if to say, ‘really?’. He looked down briefly, and then, through dark eyelashes, asked Jim to stand up and come closer. He extended two long digits.

Hesitantly, Jim extended the same fingers. “Can I…?” he asked, and when Spock’s eyes narrowed with the warmest expression Jim had ever seen on his face, he closed the small gap between their hands and laid his fingers next to Spock’s. Sparkles and comfort crawled through the touch. Comfort.

Spock added light pressure, and Jim found his head spinning. “I’m so tired,” he breathed and collapsed on the bed next to his tall friend, disconnecting. Urgh, the bed was soft. It was hard to keep his eyes open.

“Spock,” Jim mumbled unceremoniously, “can I stay here?”

“I see no problem with that. If I can help you to fall asleep, I will gladly do so. You need sleep, Jim.”

“I know,” Jim murmured into the blanket. “Thank you.” He was thankful for Spock caring for him (and he for his mouth being too dry to drool). Right now nothing felt better than lying flat onto his belly, feet off the edge of the bed, and yawning.

He felt Spock shift and place a warm hand on his back. Tendrils of acceptance grew from there right to his heart. Chaste. “Does this comfort you?” Spock’s baritone voice asked.

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Pumpkin?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Jim could hardly speak anymore, let alone articulate how happy this simple term of endearment made him. Everything was so far away. Judging from the soft bouncing of the bed and the faint body heat, Spock laid down next to him. Shoes fell to the ground and another hand found Jim’s body, his head, where it fondly caressed his hair. Jim sighed in contentment.

With as much excitement as a Vulcan voice could bear, Spock asked, right next to Jim’s head, “Do you remember when you told me about the Terran tradition of Halloween on the corridor? Judging from right now, the parts of the Celtic tradition of chasing away evil spirits with carved vegetables are interesting, considering that the haze of your true emotions and my own fear of the unknown were chased away in the night of Halloween. In a way, this Celtic origin presents a most human metaphor. It also gives a significant reminiscence to the traditional, yet undeniably intimate name ‘pumpkin’ for the one who chased away the fear.”

“Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Very well.” With these words, a cool pillow was shoved under Jim’s heavy head, and two bodies curled up on top of the bed. Closer and closer, like a vortex of warm strokes and featherlight touches melting into the embrace of strong arms. Just when Jim thought how adorable Spock’s idea of cuddling was, he was gone and sleeping the slumber of a million stars, cradled by a faraway lullaby and the faint beat of a Vulcan heart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. Fin .* :☆ﾟ. ───


End file.
